


i fought it a lot

by Mongo00



Series: holding on (to life) [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:38:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongo00/pseuds/Mongo00
Summary: There were nights where Josh felt hopeless. Nights where he just felt done with everything. Nights where he wanted to give up completely. Tonight was one of those nights.





	i fought it a lot

There were nights where Josh felt hopeless. Nights where he just felt done with everything. Nights where he wanted to give up completely. Tonight was one of those nights. 

In the late afternoon, the feeling of depression hit him straight on, like a truck. He had enough experience to know what this meant. This meant that tonight was going to be a battle. 

He put on his slows playlist, hoping that it would calm him down. 

To avoid cutting, he drew on his arm with sharpie. To further avoid cutting, he took a scalding hot shower. None of it worked much. He ended up pressing his nails into his arm, giving him pain, but not far enough to break skin.

By now, he wanted to get out of the house. He threw on a jacket, with his favorite band’s logo on it, and walked to his backyard. He laid on the artificial lawn, staring up into the pitch black sky. It was around 10pm. He laid there and stared off into space, trying not to succumb to the voices in his head. He kept his earbuds in and tried to put his mind into activities that he enjoyed, or that he would normally enjoy. 

The night drew on and so did the feelings. He needed to get out of here. By midnight, Josh was on the streets of his town, walking. Walking to nowhere particular. He just wanted a break from all of this. From the world and reality. 

He was sick of it. So sick of it. 

His feet took him to a forest that he knows by heart. He comes here to think and get away from the world. 

He felt so much pain from inside his body. Pain from his head mostly. His brain wanted him dead. His brain convinced himself that everyone else wanted him dead too. 

Josh eventually stopped walking and took a seat on a tree stump. 

He wanted to stay alive. He didn’t want this. Josh cried to his music as dream by imagine dragons came on. Everything was a mess. 

There was so much pain. So much pain and Josh couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be done with it. He wanted the pain to end. 

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a freshly prescribed, full, bottle of his antidepressants. He looked at the container wearily. This isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want it to end this way. But the pain was too much. It was too much to carry on and Josh was done fighting. 

He opened the lid and poured the pills into the palm of his hand. There was about 1 month worth of Prozac for Josh in it. 

Josh couldn’t describe how much pain he felt in that moment. He didn’t want to die, he wanted to stop suffering. 

Now completely sobbing, Josh put pill by pill in his mouth and swallowed all of them dry. He was tired of fighting for everyone else. 

‘I just want the pain to end,’ Josh thought as he swayed in and out of consciousness, and ultimately into oblivion. 

He just wanted the pain to end.  
_____

His journal entry earlier that week:

Have I mentioned that I want to die? I think so. I don’t see the point in living anymore. As of now, I’m not even living for myself anymore. I’m living for others. For others that want to see me succeed and be happy. What if I told you that I’d be happy dead? It’s all too real, but I think we all know that I’d never work up enough guts to do it. To do that to the people that care about me. To actually do it myself. If there was a guaranteed, painless, and simple way to do it, I would. If there was a way to make sure that the people who care about me don’t suffer in sorrow, I would do it. See? There’s the plot twist. I know people care about and love me. That’s probably why I apparently don’t have depression. It’s because I know that some people care about me. This isn’t how I want to live. I don’t want to live everyday battling my head, battling just to stay alive. Battling a battle that is invisible to everyone else. Battling an invisible battle where people discount it when I tell them. They tell me to tell someone if it gets worse. If I need help, they’re always there. When you tell me something, mean it. Mean. It. I’ve dropped countless clues. I’ve told you countless times. Sure, I don’t say the word suicidal or death because I can’t even bring myself to say it. But. You should be smart enough to know that when I say give up on life, I mean giving up in life. What does that mean? It means I want to die. When I tell you that I’m hopeless and have no motivation, shouldn’t that trigger something? Everyday is so hard. Putting on this facade of being fine and happy. Of improvement. It’s all fake. I’m not happy and I’m definitely not getting better. Of seeming like I don’t think about death. Like I’m enjoying life. I can tell you right now that I’m not enjoying life. What will make you realize that this is serious? That this isn’t just a phase and that I’m not okay. My fear is that you’ll send me away and that fear overpowers the want for help. So. I’ll just keep silently fighting for now and probably until I work up the guts to do something.

**Author's Note:**

> That journal excerpt was actually one of my entries back in early November. I'm better now, still struggling, but better. I reached out further and got the help I needed.


End file.
